


Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied

by El Staplador (elstaplador)



Series: Some shall be pardoned, and some punished [3]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Character Study, Community: 100fandoms, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador
Summary: Friar Laurence has much with which to reproach himself.
Series: Some shall be pardoned, and some punished [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/709128
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt 26: balm

There is no remedy for this. No salve, no balm, no antidote. (Though even now there is a cold, curious part of his mind that wonders: what was it that Romeo took? What herbs, what simples, went into it? What secrets might have been learned from the dregs of that vial? What might that unknown apothecary have taught him?) Only the unfathomable mystery of grace, which he only clings to now because there has been too much of despair here.

He thought for the best. A poor excuse, but a true one. His intentions had been good. He had seen a chance to make things better, and seized it. He had been shown a path to a better world, and had taken it. Oh, but what a prize! Peace, peace for a city that had known no peace since before his old bones were young.

But he had always known it was dangerous. The marriage was a gamble, and then the stakes were raised, again and again. Vengeance, death, exile, deception, murder, suicide, and all of it a bloody trail leading back to secret vows, the hush of his cell.

How high the stakes! Life was cheap here, they said, but it was not his place to mark down the prices. He had gambled, and lost; and others, who had more to lose than he did, had paid his debts for him.

He could have refused. He so very nearly did. He knew the wedding was rash, rushed. Or he could have foreseen the slaughter that offended pride was bound to indulge in, hidden the lovers in his cell and sent them away to safety. Why did he not? Truth, unsparing, tells him: _he was afraid_.

It was cowardice all the way, and the end was the worst of all. One death, at least, he might have prevented. He knew – who better? – that Juliet possessed the strength of will to kill herself. He could have saved her from that sin, had he not turned and run, and left her alone with her dead husband and her despair.

He prays, words that he has said a thousand thousand times over repeating themselves in his heart, devoid of meaning. _Miserere mei, miserere mei._

Because of what he did, and what he failed to do, those joyous voices are stilled; youth lies mouldering and dessicated age measures out a useless span.

The Prince has forgiven him. The Montagues may yet. The Capulets will not.

He prays for heaven’s forgiveness. He cannot forgive himself.

His punishment is to live.


End file.
